


Talk

by Infamous_society



Series: Wasteland, Baby [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Mirkwood, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Song: Talk (Hozier), The Silmarillion References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infamous_society/pseuds/Infamous_society
Summary: Thranduil has waited millennia for this momentA journey through Middle Earth alongside its characters accompanied by Hozier songs.
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Reader, Thranduil (Tolkien)/You
Series: Wasteland, Baby [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090121
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Talk

**Author's Note:**

> References to the Silmarillion and other lore throughout! 
> 
> Talk by Hozier

_Alluring - (adjective) powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating; seductive._

  
Sweat dripped from your skin, a small graze on your cheek stinging as droplets of blood pooled at the surface. You had wished the king would not fight, yet as a warrior in the royal guard it was your duty to follow him into battle. The same elf you had fought alongside countless times - freshly trained on the plain of Dagorlad, lieutant as occasional Orc raids dared to skirmish the forest. Thranduil had asked you to join his guard not long after.

Now you were here, watching as he stood staring emptily at the snow covered stone. Just as he had all those thousands of years ago. Battle weary, defiant. His gaze fell upon you. 

“You are here.” His sword clattered on the ground. 

You stepped closer towards him, “Where else would I be, my king?” 

“Thranduil,” his hand brushed your cheek, fingertips staining crimson. “After an age of fighting together you should know to call me Thranduil.”

  
  


Lounging on his throne, robes of starlight surrounding him. A smirk played on his features.

“Yes my king?” This was the third time this week he had requested a private audience with you in the throne room. He raised his eyebrow slightly. “Thranduil.”

He grinned slyly, slowly, languidly. A predator who knew they’d ensnared their prey. Demeanour changing in an instant, a flicker of worry seemed to cross his face before the emotion vanished in an instant.

“Your wound?” He beckoned you closer.  
  


Despite the countless times you had walked these steps, a primal fear echoed deep in your heart. It was not the fear you felt before battle, nor the baseless fear of immortality - it was a raw, senseless - your legs trembling. He stood. The steps seemed endless.

Touching your cheek, his hand slowly stopped. Fire coursed through your veins.

“It is healing well,” he sounded like birdsong at dawn during Spring in the forest. Seductive, cautious.

You flinched slightly, breaking out of the trance you were ensnared in.

“Thranduil, it was a mere scratch. A symbol of my service for our lands, a sign of my oath to protect you.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes for a brief second, “I would not have you injured on account of defending me.”

“Yet it is my duty. I was born in these lands. I fought for your father and now I fight for you, my king.”

  
Suddenly he drew his hand back, as if scorched once again by dragon fire. Defiance in your eyes, you stared at him. Rapt attention. You were drowning, dancing through the flames of your own desire.

Turning his head away, the spell crumbled.He sunk back on his throne, crown heavy on his head.

“You may take your leave.”

Bowing low, you smiled slightly, “At once, Thranduil.”

  
The primal look in his eyes did not escape you.

This forest was teeming with orcs and spiders. Your home was under constant attack, weariness seeped through your veins as you trudged through the palace hallways. Waves of hopelessness fluctuated with currents of pride and defiance. 

“Thranduil,” you barged in to the throne room, eager to give you report before your exhaustion controlled you. 

His head jolted up, his piercing gaze meeting with your weary one. Embarrassment flushed across your face, the guards by the throne stifling their laughs. Still he held his head high as he approached you - an unrecognisable emotion burning in his eyes.

“Walk with me.”

He offered you no choice. His hand was outstretched, promising sin and sincerity. 

“The darkness in our woods is growing,” you spoke softly as you walked through the halls with him.

The door opened, his private rooms stretching out in front of you. Echoes of him were everywhere, a ring lay to the side, a sword resting against the wall.

“I fear,” your words felt trapped in your throat. “Thranduil, I fear we both will have to look towards the south once more.”

Stopping, he turned sharply. The pain in his face melted into reassurance. He continued walking, beckoning you to follow him. 

“One day we will fall in battle or sail across the sea,” he sat, “We will have to fight the same evil again.”

A weariness hung over him, a result of millennia of death and war, of battles before you were born, of knowing he could never return to his true home. You sat next to him, a similar weariness seeping through your bones. All the fire and death of the centuries heavy in your mind.

Still, Thranduil had seen it all alongside you - he was the feeling of returning home after an endless journey. The feeling of need, forgiveness and hope - bound to him like a devotee.

Comfortable silence lay in the air, you laid your head on Thranduil’s shoulder - the heat of his body warming your soul, encouraging the flames of desire. 

  
When you awoke you were alone.

Rain in Mirkwood was a blessing. Pure droplets of diamond danced on your skin. The woods spoke of prosperity and fulfilment. Cries of excitement sung through the trees, bodies weaving together in the starlight. There was still hope.

He walked as if he was made of the same starlight, his clothes shining like thousands of raindrops woven together. Graceful, regal, defiant. 

Wine flowed alongside the rain, flushing cheeks and warming hearts. You sword pressed cold against your side. Turning, you glanced at Thranduil. He caught your eyes, a look of desperation and knowing buried deep within. You stepped towards him. 

  
“Thranduil,” a plea.

A smirk, vicious and deadly. Celebration of new life surrounded you. Perhaps you had lived and died a thousand times alongside Thranduil, battle-hardened, weary. Still the starlight shone, shadows dancing on your faces. 

He stood unmoving. Eyes focused on you. Hand resting in yours. Silence. 

The same fear, the same desire, the same love. 

His lips touched yours. The stars, the rain, the alcohol. Heat flushed your cheeks. His body pressed tightly against yours, sorrows forgotten. A bird sang freely - sunrise was dawning in the sky. 

_ Imagine being loved by me... _


End file.
